Autumn Energy Descends
The Metal Element rules the Autumn months.
Autumn can be heavy.
I have a space in my house that is literally full to the brim with tangled wires, smelly tents, and miscellaneous crafting projects - unfinished and unravelling. I’ll process it all later, when I have more time, some rainy day in the somewhere future.
But time doesn’t seem to stretch itself out nicely for me to sit around and sort it; it floods on and the cupboard fills to the point of overwhelm. Soon it’ll explode.
Autumn can be heavy. The clutter, the unprocessed, the ignored, all start pulling on the shoulders, pressing deep into the chest. If the weight can’t be shed, it stagnates, it rots.
Movement is key.
5 Element theory offers us metaphors, taken from the environment, to use as a guide to align our bodies to the rhythm of the times. The word “Elements’ suggests something static, but they are better understood as Movements or Phases.
Think of a piece of classical music: the building energy of a crescendo mimics the Fire Phase of the summer months - with its intense activity, warmth, and vibrancy - a time of expansion and fullness. After the crescendo, music is often marked by a decrescendo (gradual softening) or a shift to a calmer, reflective passage, there is a sense of release or subsiding energy. Similarly, autumn brings a quieter, introspective atmosphere as nature winds down and prepares for the stillness of winter.
Autumn isn't just a time of fading—it’s a time of resolution, introspection, and quiet beauty, much like the reflective moments in music that follow a peak in intensity.
Autumn Descends
The movement of autumn, or Metal Phase in Traditional Chinese Medicine, is like the falling of an apple from its branch: full, heavy, ready, the apple lets go of its keeper and begins its descent to the ground. If the fruit stays in place it will rot on its branch, but if it releases its burden, it will fall to the earth and transform, providing nourishment for the soil during the winter months.
To let go is to grieve: a process of acknowledgment and transformation. When grief is blocked it is held in sorrow, and is forced to return in ever more elaborate guises: irrational actions, intense mental fluctuations, dis-ease.
Our culture encourages accumulation and us humans tend to cling on for dear life to whatever we have gathered, whether it serves us or not. Our memories, treasures, relationships, and duties become our identity, wrapping us tight in a shell of purpose. To shed ourself of this identity would leave us naked and vulnerable, and so we burden its load.
How to move with the times
The practice for this time is to see what is of value, and to know what no longer is. Start small: process the clutter in your house (I’ll sort mine out too!) Allow yourself time for reflection and stillness. Notice what is weighing heavily, and what can be shed.
In our yoga we can practice with intention. Each time you come to practice acknowledge what you are transforming: a mind-state, relationship, job or habit. Commit yourself to acknowledge your burden and the seed for change - the opening to let it go - will be sewn.
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The Art of Yoga Adjustments
Adjustments in Yoga are an art that should be treated with great care and respect. Applied with skill, the touch of a teacher offers their student freedom within a posture; done badly (or without consent) the results can be catastrophic.
Connecting with the Bladder Meridian for gentle hands-on adjustments in Child's Pose
Many of my students lament the lack of hands on adjustments from teachers. This is particularly true in the post-Covid era, where we have perhaps lost confidence in that close proximity between student and teacher. Others have been left distressed or injured by clumsy teachers who move them without consent or without the listening skills required to provide the safety in an adjustment.
In yoga, adjustments are not about "correcting" physical postures; rather they bridge the perceived gap between the physical and energy body, teacher and student. The touch of a skilled teacher offers insight into freedom within a posture, allowing the student to explore and deepen their practice in ways that go beyond words.
The Essence of Yoga Adjustments
Yoga adjustments should never be approached with the mindset of imposing a "right" way to do a posture. Every body is unique, with its own history, patterns, and limitations. Adjustments should honour this individuality, helping the practitioner find ease and alignment that feels safe and beneficial to their body.
When I work with students, I focus on encouraging the natural flow of energy within the body. Through gentle guidance, we can inspire a more profound connection to the pose, allowing the student's body to open, expand, and explore new dimensions of their practice. It’s a subtle yet powerful process, one that requires sensitivity and patience, and the ability to listen not just with ears but the whole body.
Using Acupressure Point Gall Bladder 21 to move the flow of Qi down
The Role of Acupressure in Yoga Adjustments
Incorporating Acupressure into yoga adjustments takes this practice to another level. Acupressure, an ancient healing technique rooted in Traditional Chinese Medicine, involves applying pressure to specific points on the body to stimulate the flow of Qi, or life energy. When used in the context of yoga, these points can be activated to enhance the body's natural energy flow, deepen the student's experience of the pose, and support the healing process.
By connecting with the Acupressure points, we draw attention to the subtle energy body, which has an expansive quality beyond the physical limitations of the body. This connection allows for a more refined adjustment, one that not only addresses the physical alignment but also encourages a more open awareness and energetic expanse into the shape.
As the body adjusts and energy flows freely, the student can experience a profound sense of harmony and integration within their practice.
Observing Movement Within Stillness
One of the most beautiful aspects of yoga adjustments is the ability to observe movement within stillness. This concept speaks to the idea that even in a seemingly static pose, there is a dynamic flow of energy and breath that can be felt and guided. When we begin to tune into this subtle movement within stillness, the healing process begins.
Through mindful adjustments, the teacher can help the student become more aware of this inner flow. As they tune into their breath, energy, and body, they can release tension, find greater ease in the pose, and connect more deeply with their practice. This awareness extends beyond the mat, fostering a greater sense of presence and mindfulness in everyday life.
Space to Breath in a Pandemic
Suddenly, unexpectedly we find ourselves in stillness, existing in small spaces, unable to connect, touch, or move at will to the places we want to go.
My normal life is rarely consistent: I have no routine, no permanent home, and no day of work is the same as the last. The closest I came to a sense of stability in recent years was when I lived on a narrowboat along the London canals. But even then, every fortnight for five years, I moved my floating corridor to a different towpath home. For all the comforting gentle rock of water that incased me, I never felt the grounding force of earth beneath my feet.
Now all plans have collapsed, travels postponed, work cancelled, and an uncertainty over what the future holds grows every day. Yet in the midst of a crisis, there is a tranquility that I haven’t experienced, and perhaps have secretly craved, for as long as I can remember.
Boating in Spring
© Becca Spooner
In the stillness I have witnessed the arrival of spring on the land I was born in, watched the trees unfurling into bloom, heard the birds of my native home sing above the silent streets, and observed the rise and fall of the moon through crisp evening skies. Every day I experience an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the million fortunes that have been gifted to me, and above all that of the abundant nature I’m surrounded by.
At the start of the pandemic I was visiting my dad in hospital every day for an unrelated condition, with the growing panic of Covid-19 consuming us. One day a man in the bed next to my father lay dying, and as I left the hospital the world came crashing down; I was totally overwhelmed.
In a state verging on hysteria I craved something strong to calm me down, nothing like a smoke to remind us to let out a deep, stagnant breath. But in the end I sat in the garden and stared at a leaf uncurling in the spring sunshine. As I watched the beautiful little leaf, I felt the calming grace that nature commands, the sigh of air from my grieving lungs, and the weight of sadness shed from my soul.
Sitting amidst the concrete London jungle, surrounded by city and grey and fear, all it took was one leaf to reconnect me to this earth, to this moment, to the only consistency of this life: to the breath.
A snail-like stalk in the Amazon rainforest
© Becca Spooner
One sleepless night, a few days into lockdown, I remember a conversation with a 12-year old Nepalese girl who had witnessed the 2015 Earthquake that killed 9000 people and left three million homeless. The quake struck with such force that Mount Everest trembled, and for a moment in time the highest point on this earth lost its footing. She recalled how her family had camped out in the streets for weeks as aftershocks escalated the damage and fear, the survivors too terrified to return home.
I can’t imagine what it feels like to have that grounding force we take for granted shift beneath my feet. In the UK, most of us live in blissful detachment from major environmental disasters, and so far we have seemingly escaped the dramatic calls of climate instability. But the world is different now in a way it never has been before. We wake up and feel a pang of emotion that resonates like grief: a sinking feeling that has no bottom. This virus has exposed many cracks along the fragile foundations on which we have built our societies.
A lonesome Yak in Nepal’s Himalayas.
© Becca Spooner
During the seven years I worked with indigenous people in South America and Southern Africa, there was never a doubt amongst these diverse peoples of the planet’s gifts. As semi-nomadic peoples they had few possessions, no fixed abode, or regular “work” to speak of, but they all shared a passionate reverence for the land they called their home. For tribal people there is no question about the importance of sustaining our Earth: without it, they cannot hunt, gather their food, build their homes, practice their rituals, speak to their Gods, or make their medicines. And are their needs really so different to our own?
We are made up solely of particles afforded to us by this planet, and yet, just as we disregard the sacrifices of our parental mother, we spend the majority of our short lives ignoring the marvel of this unique environment that gives us life. Without oxygen blown to the winds by trees rooted in her soil, nutrients that multiply like magic in the darkness of her compost, water that flows through ravines like veins across her vast surface, we would be but dust on the surface of a lifeless rock.
An Arhuaco girls peeps out from her home in Colombia’s Sierra Nevada mountains
© Becca Spooner
We have brought to life a tragedy where it’s normal to wear masks, not to protect us from viruses, but to stop us choking from the deadly fumes we exhale to transport us around the globe; we drink water from throwaway plastic bottles even if we have the privilege to take it safely from the tap; millions of tonnes of food, much of it wrapped in plastic, is discarded into landfill because we are too full, too lazy or too disorganised to make it last.
Now, as the Earth suffocates under the weight of our demands, we too are gasping for breath.
The aftershocks of a pandemic will not be experienced by everyone the same, and we cannot ignore the disparity of resources shared amongst the people on our soil, let alone the rest of the planet. Some of us are fortunate: we have homes that are safe to retreat to, where we can wait for the dust of a virus to settle. For the briefest of moments we can breath in air that is clean, and watch nature burst forth through the concrete cracks with the energy of spring.
So for those of us who still can, let us find gratitude in the simplest of acts, the greatest of privileges, and the only true stability we have in life: breath in, breath out, breath in…